


Marked

by later_than_the_rabbit



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Drawing, Fluff, Marriage Proposal, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Reader-Insert, Sister!Reader, Tumblr Prompt, Unconventional Proposal, Writing on Skin, permanent markers, sherlock gets revenge, well implied anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 17:28:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11719080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/later_than_the_rabbit/pseuds/later_than_the_rabbit
Summary: You are bored and Sherlock is annoyed





	Marked

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: “I play a mean air guitar if that’s what you’re asking.”  
> “Can you stop playing connect the dots with my freckles?”

**“Can you stop playing connect the dots with my freckles?”** Sherlock turned his head away from the back of the couch to glare at you on the floor in his most menacing manner possible, which you just scoffed at, crossing your arms and pouting your lips in what you hoped was a pitiful expression.

“But I’m bored Sherlock! There’s nothing to do!” You had been stuck in the flat with Sherlock after John had gone to a medical convention without you before torrential rain decided to shut London down. Granted, you would probably be more bored there than here with the moping detective but still, you were bored. “Entertain me!”

“No. Go find something to do somewhere else, you're annoying me.” With that he waved you off, returning to his sulk, a smirk hidden on his face. People had always thought that Sherlock was the insufferable being in 221B when there wasn’t a case, but little did they know that since you arrived in the flat below in 221C and into the lives of John Watson and Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock was far from the one causing trouble. Where Sherlock was an inconvenience, you were a menace. Sherlock shot at the walls in his boredom whereas you extracted the gunpowder from every bullet casing you could find and put it in a tin can on the roof to see how loud it would be. Everyone in the immediate vicinity of 221B had ringing ears for three days after that incident and it was also the day when Sherlock began to come to you when he was bored. He found that when he was bored, you usually were too and that, with a little patience, something interesting was bound to alleviate his boredom, for some time anyway. Any minute now.

“Fine, I’ll entertain myself!” He heard you rearrange your body on the floor for sometime, leaving for a short period before returning. He had thought you were content with just sitting quietly at that moment when he felt something poke at the exposed area of his back that his dressing gown didn’t cover and a line being traced - no, drawn - between the freckle on his right shoulder blade to the one near the nape of his neck. He jumped violently and sat up, seeing you with a black marker in one hand and a shit-eating grin plastered on your face.

“Y/N, what did you do?”

“Come now Sherlock! Surely you can deduce what has occurred here, Mr. Consulting-Detective.” Somehow, your smile got wider with the jab at his profession and at the scowl that appeared on his own face.

“You didn’t…”

“Oh but I did. See before I was just tracing imaginary lines but connect-the-dots sounded like much more fun! Actually, I think I can see an image from the freckles on your arm. Give it here for a second.”

“No!”

“But Sherrrrlooooock…”

“No! Keep that marker away from me!”

“Never!” You tried to grab his wrist with one hand to stop him from escaping but Sherlock just swatted your hand away and pounced gracefully off the couch to the other side of the room. You stood with less finesse and began to approach him predatorily.

“Y/N I’m serious! Stop trying to draw on me.” Sherlock backed away from you and headed towards the bathroom. _I hope that that marker’s not my permanent one._

“Where are you going Sherlock? Don’t you want to help me stay entertained?”

“Not if I’m going to be vandalised!” With that he made his move, side-stepping your arm and making it to the bathroom, where he shut the door forcefully and locked it. He sighed and shut his eyes, wondering why on earth you thought drawing on him would be fun. It was then that he heard you begin to knock insistently on the wood behind him.

“Sherlock. Sherlock. Sherlock…” His name was repeated as frequently as the knocking and a headache began to form in his temples. Ignoring your demands for attention, he twisted his back to face the mirror and attempted to see the mark where you had drawn. From his neck to his shoulder, a thick, black line stretched, prominent on his alabaster skin. _Damn._

You had found the permanent marker.

\-----------------------------------------------------

After what felt like ages of furious scrubbing and soaping, the mark on Sherlock’s back had finally diminished into a faint, grey line on top of his now red and raw shoulder. He slowly emerged from the bathroom along with a cloud of steam, cautious of your whereabouts. He could here you playing music loudly throughout the flat and a somewhat grateful sigh left his lips. Until he heard your voice again. “Sherlock! Get in here I need your help!” How you had heard the shower being shut off over the dreadful beats of some song he had probably deleted, he couldn’t say, yet still, an irritated groan came from him and he buried his head in his hands. He had had enough of you and your antics after the marker incident and, even though there was still nothing to do, anything would be better than another potential vandalising mark on his person. He was committed to just ignoring your music for as long as he could when a shrill cry pierced the air. Mrs. Hudson was out so there could have been only one other person who could have cried out in what sounded like anguish. Y/N. Worry consumed Sherlock’s body, driving him into the living room where he thought he heard the yell come from.

“Y/N! Are you oka-aaarrgh!!!”

“Aww, Sherlock. You do care!” The worry was chased away by blind fury as he took in the scene before him. Instead of you in pain somewhere in the flat, you stood in the middle of the living room, decked out in odd socks and a messy bun, brandishing a hairbrush in a manner that, he thinks, is meant to mirror a microphone. Sherlock lets in a deep breath and releases it through his tense jaw, his teeth locked together in rage. He tried to form coherent words through the anger but all he could really do was stutter out parts of a question.

“Wha...Are you… Why… Y/N…”

**“I play a mean air guitar if that’s what you’re asking.”** At this, his rage was dampened with mild confusion and bewilderment. His jaw goes slack and his eyebrows shoot up into his hairline; not one, but both of them, _what the hell?_ etched upon his face. You just kept standing there. Your hairbrush/microphone became a hairbrush/pointer as you pointed at his face, your bottom lip trapped by your teeth in an attempt to stop your giggling from overcoming the rest of your somewhat serious expression. You two remained locked in eye contact until Sherlock dropped his gaze in resignation, then mischief. You couldn’t see what caught his eye, but you could guess upon seeing him reach for something; his marker, on the coffee table. His permanent marker. “Uhh, Sh-Sherlock, you aren’t thinking what I think your thinking, are you?” He uncapped the marker with a light pop and flicked his eyes towards yours, a devilish smirk consuming his face. “Sherlock?”

“Well, that’d depend Y/N,” he passed the marker from one hand to the other, looking at it in what would be consideration, “Do you think that I am thinking that I am going to use this marker to write out the entire Periodic Table on your face so that you cannot leave the building for at least a day or two?” He approached you with calculated steps, backing you into the corner of the room. You chuckled nervously.

“Th-That’s not exactly what I was thinking, but I’d suppose...yes?”

“No.” You let out a sigh of relief. “I think I’m going to draw an accurate depiction of the glucose molecule instead.”

“Oh thank... wait wha - AH!” You toppled backwards as Sherlock suddenly tackled you, black marker at the ready and pointed to the only skin exposed as he straddled your waist, pinning your arms to your sides to prevent you escaping - your face. “No! No no no! Not the face! Not the - SHERLOCK! AHAHAHA!” You couldn’t stop the boisterous laugh that came from your throat as you thrashed your head back and forth. Sherlock had bent down and began to draw the glucose molecule on your apparently ticklish face, his eyes and brows narrowed in concentration and a peek of his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth. He huffed in frustration and sat up again.

“Y/N stop moving! You’re ruining my masterpiece! I can hardly tell which atom is which because you moved too much!” You looked up at him through your lashes and could see the beginnings of a smile permeate through his angry facade. His green-grey eyes sparkled with amusement and his cheeks were slightly flushed from having wrestled with you.

“Well… I did say… not the face!” You managed to say from in between breaths. “That’s just… mean.”

“Well it’s just not possible to salvage my artwork from this mess. I suppose it’ll do for the purpose though.” Sherlock stood and proceeded to recap the marker before helping you up, still giddy from the unexpected tickling. “Black suits you Y/N”

“Well thanks but I don’t think I’ll be wearing marker drawings anytime soon.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Huh?”

“Oh nothing. Do you want tea?”

“I’d love some, thanks.” You stood as Sherlock made his way to the kitchen, your boredom subsided for now. Whilst Sherlock made the tea, you sat yourself back on the floor and flicked the telly on. You two sat contently for sometime and before long, your eyelids began to droop with fatigue and you slept, your head resting against Sherlock’s thigh, the television humming in the background.

\-----------------------------------------------------

John arrived home later that evening. He couldn’t hear anything coming from the flat so he made his way carefully up the stairs, skipping the ones that creaked obscenely. He nudged open the door to the flat and saw the curls of his best friend against the arm of the couch and the legs of his sister stretched across the floor. He went to wake up the latter when he paused and stifled a surprised giggle-turned-gasp. There you two slept, in the same positions as when you fell asleep only, instead of just a messy diagram of glucose on your face, you now had chemical equations all down your arms and large bold words across your forehead. John got his phone out to take a picture of you two and sent it off to Lestrade with a text:

**John: I guess he finally asked her, in one way or another.**  
**Greg: did he actually?**  
**John: I guess so. I don't think she's seen yet though.**  
**Greg: video her reaction when she finds out would ya?**  
**John: sure**

The picture John sent was illuminated by the lamp in the room, allowing the carefully written question to be seen even in the dim light.  
MARRY ME?


End file.
